


Hope in the Impossible

by shamelessnameless



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Caring Thranduil, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Legolas is a Leaf, M/M, Protective Thranduil, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessnameless/pseuds/shamelessnameless
Summary: The story of how Legolas leaves, comes back, does a little bit of more or less accidental fading, and finds forgiveness.Thranduil is a good dad and Tolkien is probably screaming in his grave.





	Hope in the Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> These elves have very little to do with how Tolkien wanted them to be. In other words: they are as human as they can get. 
> 
> Mentions a tiny little bit of non-con. Mentions suicidal thoughts quite a bit more.
> 
> Note: I am not a native Speaker / do not have a beta. Sorry.

He turns to ride south after the battle, not lingering behind even if he is quite sure his father will manage to find a bathtub somewhere to wash off the grime and blood of fighting and Legolas has half a mind profiting from being his son and the next in line to use the water. But instead, he turns and goes and does not turn around until he knows even his father’s sharp eyes will not be able to follow his path.

 

\--

 

The first few weeks, his journey feels adventurous. Legolas meets some dispersed orc groups, but his father trained him well and ruthlessly from the time he was able to walk, and Legolas makes quick work of them, reveling in the interplay of muscle and strength and pure movement, releasing arrow after arrow. Only once does one of the creatures get close enough to be dangerous but Legolas is quick to draw his sword, is quick to behead the orc before it bites his neck. He does not quite manage the grace of doing away with his bow and grabbing his sword the way his father does, but out here nobody can see, nobody can criticize.

 

\--

 

At first, he has half a mind to find Filarion, to find work at the settlement his father has had him set up many, many years ago and he lingers in the area for a day or two before decisively turning away. Thranduil’s eldest son is much like him, quick to judge Legolas and found him wanting, quick to order him to fulfill duties Legolas is either bored to death with or does not feel up to. Once, when Legolas was still young enough to find his father after a bad dream, Filarion was waiting for him in the dark, smirking and berating Legolas for being a needy, silly child. Legolas never left his room again after a nightmare.

 

\--

 

There is Trinir of course, but Trinir left their father’s halls as soon as he was able to, always drawn to faraway lands and adventure, always quick to smile or hug Legolas when he was home, quick to play hide and seek in the forest, quick to help him mend his bow or his armor, quick to sit down with him and tell stories to Legolas well into the night. There were times during the dark winter months when Legolas knew better than to wait for Trinir to come back home because the roads were treacherous. But still he cried at night, aching with wishing to see Trinir. He remembers only dimly that once his father found him like that and told him stories himself while they mended their bows, but Legolas isn’t quite sure if this really happened or it it’s merely a figment of imagination his young mind came up with in its longing.

 

\--

 

He realizes that he hasn’t even said his goodbyes to Thranduil’s third son, that he hasn’t even paused to see if Laegon was well after battle, but he didn’t need to, did he, because Laegon is always just perfect, the son any father wishes to have, a mighty warrior, content with working for the guard, content with being a captain under his king’s command, content to someday marry a Silvan elf and to stay in Mirkwood forever, content to jest with their father on Legolas’ behalf.

 

\--

 

And so he rides to find Elrond and this Aragorn his father has told him about and when he first reaches Imladris, the difference between it and his home is enough to capture his attention for weeks until he comes out of his fascination for Elrond and his sons and all these polished and wise elves and realizes that Aragorn is hardly more than a child and feels lost because it isn’t like his father to tell him to go and find something where nothing is to find and it isn’t like his father to give him a puzzle to solve which is something only Trinir would appreciate. Most likely there is some obscure meaning, something trivial Legolas should understand but all Legolas has understood so far is that traveling by yourself is lonely and just a bit dangerous and being far away from home is both freeing and humbling, both a blessing and a curse.

 

\--

 

For the longest time, Legolas thought that the ill-will between Elrond and his father must have stemmed from some sort of disagreement, but after spending a few weeks in Imladris, he must admit, that Elrond, for all his famed wisdom, is mostly a dick. The sneer he shows whenever someone says a kind word about Thranduil to Legolas upon learning whose son he is, makes Legolas itch for a bow. His father might even forgive him for starting that particular war.

 

But instead, he sits at Elrond’s table and listen to the stories about his father Elrond has to tell. Yes, Thranduil is quick to burst out in emotion, but Legolas remembers the first few years after his mother’s death and the emotionless mask his father wore as a face and finds he cannot mind. Yes, Thranduil is more prideful than any other elf Legolas has ever met (except, maybe, possibly all of his sons), yet he also has more honor than most, doesn’t shut himself off from conflict when it finds him. Yes, Thranduil’s tongue is sharp, but it has always been quick in praising Legolas too whenever he deserved it.

 

With distance, Legolas starts to see his father a little clearer and finds that for all he must agree with some of Elrond’s comments, he might not have been fair in his assessment; that Thranduil might be a complicated elf but that Legolas is, after all, proud to be his son.

 

\--

 

He ends up staying in Imladris over the winter months, half because he is not ready to go back home, half because he hopes that Trinir will find him there, because even if Thranduil and Elrond do not talk, Trinir is a welcome guest at Elrond’s halls. Yet, winter brings only snow and games and drinking with Elladan and Elrohir and before Legolas knows what else winter will bring, Elladan propositions him and Legolas agrees out of curiosity, out of loneliness, out of defiance to a speech his father gave him years ago on how he expected a prince of Mirkwood to behave. Legolas has not been bedded before because he kind of wished for Tauriel to be the first and it’s quicker and more sinful than he expected and it’s also more painful than he thought. Afterwards Elladan leaves quickly and Legolas cleans himself thoroughly in the hot springs and he does not ache with homesickness, he does not feel even more alone in this world, he does not wish to go to his father and just sit with him, because if Thranduil is one thing, then it’s indestructible, and that’s always been soothing to Legolas.

 

  --

 

He thinks about writing and doesn’t. _Aragorn is a child, Elladan comes and leaves me feeling used, Elrond is talking about you in a way that makes me want to stick an arrow through him even though much of what he says about you is right_ – these are not things Legolas wants to put in a letter. Neither are _I miss you, I feel lost without you, I don’t understand what you want me to learn, I am not ready to be by myself_. In his pride, he is very much his father’s son.

 

\--

 

As youngest son of four, Legolas was never expected to do more for the kingdom than become a respected man, a good fighter worthy of the brilliance his father possesses. He was supposed to become kind and smart and willing to die for his king, for his people and Legolas knows that Thranduil was softer on him than on Filarion, on Trinir, on Laegon, but for some reason Thranduil was always more disappointed in him too no matter how hard Legolas tried. Legolas knows that after his mother died something died in his father too, but petulantly like the child he was back then he cannot accept it even as a grown man. After her death, after the memories he has from that horrible day, he can barely remember how his father was before, but he knows about the after, the hugs and praise that never came, the solace and company Thranduil denied him until he was by all rights an adult.

 

Before, Legolas thinks, Thranduil used to carry him around, used to cancel his council meetings without second thoughts when Legolas wanted to go out and explore. Before, Legolas called Thranduil Ada, not father.

 

\--

 

With spring, Elladan’s attention wanes and Legolas feels better for it until he notices Elrohir looking at him and so he leaves. He rides aimlessly towards the south for a few weeks, enjoys the weather and his freedom until he turns and goes west, because that’s a place entirely unknown to him. He asks for Trinir in the bigger towns but nobody knows that name and so he forgets about meeting up with his brother and decides that there is only him in this world, at least until the leaves turn color again and he will have to decide on what to do next.

 

\--

 

Legolas caught himself from time to time looking at his father and not really believing that Thranduil made him, the gap in wisdom and ability and wit, and also, frankly, beauty, so stark that Legolas could understand Thranduil’s disappointment in having to call him son. Of all of Thranduil’s sons, Legolas is the only one who is only good with a bow, nothing else. Filarion is their father in all but looks, Trinir is adventurous and brave and smart and Laegon is steadfast and reliable and rooted in himself. Only Legolas is envious and impatient and needy and of course Thranduil does not have much use for him. Of course, he wouldn’t try to come and find his youngest son after not hearing from him for close to a year.

 

\--

 

He crosses into Eriador at last and at night looks from the plains up towards the stars and cannot help but wish for them to take him away to another place. He meets travelers, and merchants, and common folk and he meets bandits and pundits. He beds a few more of the fairer ones here and there, but it doesn’t feel good the way he thought it would and so he turns even further the south again. He might visit Rohan, now that he is already riding for so long, stay another winter, before maybe, slowly returning to his father’s halls. It’s not that he is missed.

 

\--

 

Trinir finds him near the North-South-Road and he hugs him for so long and so hard that Legolas struggles against his hold. “Do you know how worried we were?” he says. “Whatever has our father done to deserve this, Legolas?” he asks next and angrily Legolas refuses to answer. _What hasn’t he done_ , he wants to say, but he knows that is not entirely fair. He knows his father wanted to hug him before he left; he knows that his father meant to say, _your mother loved you more than anything and so do I,_ but he wasn’t ready to hear it.  

 

“You don’t know how it is to lose your life partner and how hard it is to go on after, even if there are children,” Trinir says while he steers them down the road at a much faster pace.

 

“You don’t know how he cried in relief when we found you at last alive under all those dead and you can’t remember how he wouldn’t let you out of his sight for months,” he says while they rest at a campground during a cloudy night.

 

“You don’t know how hard he tried and how difficult it was raising you as the only child in all of his realm,” Trinir says while they look at the Misty Mountains.

 

“You don’t know how much he worried and how much he misses you,” he says while they ride into Rohan and by now Legolas wants to go home and beg for a second chance, but he doesn’t admit it. 

 

\--

 

Legolas barely remembers his mother, but what is worse for him is that his mind must have tripped up somehow after he has seen her and her guard slaughtered. For much of his early years, his memories are mixed up; he remembers things to have happened before her death that happened after; he remembers things that might not have happened at all. Once, he talked with his father about it, but Thranduil got strangely intense about it, asking more and more questions Legolas could not answer, and he left feeling even more confused and ashamed of his memory.

 

Over the next years, Thranduil would sometimes tell stories about Legolas’ childhood when it was just the two of them and only now Legolas realizes what he’s been trying to do and feels sorry for not appreciating the effort for what it was.

 

\--

 

The weather starts to cool when Legolas and Trinir reach the edges of Fangorn and when the wargs attack.

 

Legolas does not remember much of the battle afterwards, just as he remembers little but the horror of the battle of the five armies, the deadly calm he found fighting and killing orcs. Trinir takes the brunt of the attack and keeps telling him to keep shooting his arrows while they try to find cover in Fangorn for they know the wargs will not follow them there. But there are outnumbered and Trinir’s horse is lost and then Legolas horse is killed with all their provisions and then Trinir tells him to go and Legolas refuses and then out of nowhere a group of wainriders appear and that’s when Trinir attacks to save Legolas and all Legolas can do is flee, but not before one of the riders stabs him straight through the thigh with his sword.

 

\--

 

He runs for what feels like hours, headless, scared and hurt. His father trained him better than that and maybe, if he hadn’t been on the road for months already, in turn loathing and missing his father so fiercely it physically hurts, then he might have been able to heed the advice, but as it stands, he can’t. He just can keep going, memories of the day his mother died mixing with Trinir’s face and he is so so so sorry for killing another one of his family. Not Trinir, he keeps thinking, but also not Laegon or Filarion, also not his father.

 

When he stops, the wound barely still oozes blood, but Legolas feels dizzy and in pain and he sits down and rests and when he wakes up, he is so thirsty he could cry. The tries to heal the wound but he can’t, because the healing lessons his father gave him he hated the most, because he lacked talent and skill and patience and now he will die for it. He looks for Athelas and can’t find any and so he gets up without cleaning the wound, only binds it with some cloth he tears from his tunic.

 

\--

 

Hours or days or weeks later, he must admit, that he, son of a king who dwells in the woods is well and truly lost in Fangorn. The forest doesn’t want him there, but he cannot leave, cannot find his way, staggers through leaves and bush so thick he can barely cover ground.

 

\--

 

He finds water at last, but the wound already festers. He tries to climb a tree to see where he needs to go but his leg will not hold his weight. He keeps going and going until he can’t and then he sits down with his head on his crossed arms and weeps for his brother.

 

\--

 

When Legolas was much, much younger, just after his mother had died, he would hide in the woods on the days when no one in his father’s realm was free to entertain him and when dusk started to settle, Thranduil himself would come and collect him from whichever part of the forest Legolas found himself in. There were limits to his freedom, over where the darkness started to dwell, and Legolas knew that if ever found himself on the wrong side of these borders his little adventures would stop and so he stayed in the parts of the woods his father deemed safe. Yet he tried to hide as well as he could for a tiny part of Legolas was sure that if he made it too hard, Thranduil would lose interest and not bother finding him, because he never came to spend time with Legolas anyway.

 

And yet, week after week, month after month, his father would unerringly find his hiding places, would sweep him into his arms and carry him back to his halls and they would not speak a word until they reached home. Legolas would feel safe and protected in his embrace and it would get him through all the other days when his father struggled to even talk to him.

 

\--

 

The hand that brushes his hair out of his face is startling in its familiarity; even more so in that Legolas has not felt it touch him so carefully for decades.

 

“Legolas,” his father says, and that single word holds fear and love and forgiveness for him. “Ada,” he breathes, because after the months away from home there is no other word he has yearned to say and tips forward against his father’s chest.

 

\--

 

When he wakes next the fiery pain in his leg has subsided to a dull ache and under the clear night sky, he finds himself sideways in Thranduil’s arms on top of his great elk. One of Thranduil’s finer coats is wrapped around him. As are his father’s arm.

 

“Trinir,” he whispers and does not dare to make it a question.

 

“Much more experienced than you in outsmarting wainriders,” Thranduil says evenly but there is an amused tone in his voice, “and therefore unhurt. He rides behind us.”

 

Legolas tries to turn his head to peer over his father’s shoulders, but Thranduil presses his lips against his forehead before he gets far.

 

“He is unhurt,” he repeats, “you are not. Stay where you are. If you slide down Logon and open up your wound again after I spent ages healing it, I will order for you to be left behind.”

 

Legolas knows he doesn’t mean it, of course he doesn’t, but…

 

“I know I cannot ask for your forgiveness,” he starts, “but I am so sorry and I –“

 

“Ion-nin,” Thranduil whispers, “I apologize for sending you on your way when I did little to prepare you. You do not know how grateful I am to have found you in time. Rest now.”

 

And so Legolas does.

 

\--

 

“How did you find me?” he asks much later when Thranduil forces him to eat and drink, when Trinir hovers just behind their father, eyes worried on Legolas’ sweaty face.

 

“Call it a premonition that made us start riding for Fangorn weeks ago,” his father murmurs.

 

\--

 

“But how did you find me in the forest?” he asks much, much later when they are forced to rest in Lórien no matter how much his father hates it, because Legolas’ fever and pain are so high that they cannot keep going.

 

“I always know where to find you,” his father says while slowly wiping a cold cloth over Legolas’ feverish head, neck and chest, “now stop asking questions and rest.”

 

“Ada,” Legolas whispers, just to be contrary, not because he wants his father to say “ion-nin” again.

  
Thranduil huffs out a laugh. Then silence. Then: “Sleep, ion-nin,” very softly, and Legolas does.

 

\--

 

Thranduil decides to ride at the last possible moment for the Woodland before winter truly arrives, for a realm needs its king and Legolas is told to stay in Lórien with Trinir. It aches and stings to see his father preparing to leave him again just when they have gotten closer and so he lingers in his father’s shadow for days even though Thranduil frowns at the way he holds his leg. Legolas knows that it is unusual for an elf to be fighting injury for so long, but he has just as little of an explanation as Thranduil claims to have.

 

Thranduil is already in armor on the day of his departure when he comes to find Legolas who in turn is very much not hiding in his bed to not say his goodbyes.

 

“You will be preoccupied well enough soon, I think,” Thranduil says to Legolas’ back when he doesn’t turn around to face him, “Elrond’s sons are riding for Celeborn and should be here within soon.”

 

Legolas does not react to that, at least thinks he doesn’t, but Thranduil sits down next to him and places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Normally, I would tell you that I am happy to know you have found someone,” Thranduil murmurs and _how does he always know everything_ , Legolas wonders, “but you appear to be distressed at the news. Whatever is going on, Legolas?”

 

At first, he only wants to shrug and make an off-hand comment but when he opens his lips a whole bunch of things spill out before he can stop them.

 

His father’s touch on his shoulder turns insistent after he finishes until Legolas turns around. Thranduil studies his face for a long moment and then gives him a wry smile.

 

“You will ride the whole time in front of me on Logon,” Thranduil says, “if we face battle, you will not engage. When we return, you will take these healing lessons you hated, and you will rest all throughout winter. No foraging in the woods, no training with your bow. Understood?”

 

Legolas’ nod is a little too fierce to be indifferent and his father sighs deeply.

 

“What do I do with you, ion-nin,” he whispers, “I have not done you proud after your mother’s death but to hear how you have given yourself just to find companionship…it pains me, Legolas.”

 

“Ada,” Legolas says and pushes himself up and the embrace they share lasts longer than any other Legolas remembers.

 

\--

 

They meet the twins on the road just after having left the woods of Lórien and Thranduil orders his company to keep going while he stays behind to have a word. Legolas cranes and cranes his neck while Logon dutifully carries him along, but he sees not much more than Elladan’s ears and neck turning redder and redder and his father’s tall figure growing taller and taller while he invades Elladan’s personal space. When Elladan nods hastily and takes a step back, Legolas cannot help but feel smugly vindicated even if Elladan might not quite deserve this treatment.

 

“What did you say to him?” he asks, when Thranduil has easily caught up with them a short moment later.

 

“Nothing of importance,” his father answers and draws him back to rest more comfortably against his chest, “just know that neither he nor his brother are likely to visit in the near future.”

 

Legolas, fully aware of his father’s definition of importance, grins.

 

\--

 

The ride takes long, longer than it normally would but Thranduil keeps the speed slow to not aggravate Legolas’ leg and out of respect to Logon who is not used to carrying anyone than the king himself, even though he easily carries more loads than any of the horses. When they reach the old forest road Thranduil orders Trinir to push ahead with a few of the guard to prepare for their arrival.

 

It’s a quiet, uneventful ride. The smooth gate of Logon and Thranduil’s calm breathing have Legolas drowsy and he spends much of his time half asleep, blinking his eyes open lazily every few minutes until Thranduil huffs out a laugh.

 

“You really mustn’t be awake for this stretch of the road,” his father tells him gently and he falls fully asleep after that, only wakes when they make camp for the night.

 

\--

 

The next day and the day after and the day after are much the same, until Legolas jerks himself awake from a nightmare, Thranduil’s arms coming around him instantly to keep him from toppling off.

 

Legolas brushes off the concerned questions, feels deeply embarrassed by his wild flailing. At least Filarion is not here to witness it, he thinks darkly and then resists the temptation to once again lean back against Thranduil’s chest, instead holds himself rigid and straight for the rest of day.

 

When they make camp, Thranduil rolls his bedroll out next to him, closer than Legolas has seen him do it before. They break their fast quickly, light a campfire and then stretch out. Legolas half knows the camping to be a consideration to his health for elves do not need sleep the way humans do and his father can go longer without than most. Still, he is grateful for stretching out his painful leg. No matter how carefully his father rides, at the end of each day Legolas feels a dull throb all the way from his wound down to his toes and up to his stomach.

 

“I did not know you still suffered nightmares,” Thranduil says when all is quiet and just when Legolas thought he would let it go.

 

“You stopped coming to find me with them long before any of your brothers did,” Thranduil continues and well, isn’t that a revelation, “so I thought you were not as plagued by them.”

 

“Who was most plagued by them?” Legolas asks after a moment, because he is both curious and hopes it will take his father’s mind away from him.

 

“Filarion,” his father says without hesitation and Legolas huffs out a laugh and then because the mood is light, tells Thranduil about Filarion telling him off for seeking his father’s protective embrace late at night.

 

“Oh, Legolas,” Thranduil says softly, “I wish I had known. You were welcome any time in my private chambers.” His voice is so sorrowful that Legolas cannot help but to reassure.

 

“Don’t,” Thranduil whispers to him, “Filarion was so angry with you for surviving what your mother could not. I had known, yet I took little care to oversee your interactions. I apologize.”

 

They fall silent. Then: “Were you angry with me for surviving?” Legolas asks in the dark of the night. He does not think he could ask that question any other time.

 

His father’s hand finds his and holds it securely.

 

“Not a single moment, no matter how little I could take care of you at first in the aftermath” he says, “if I had lost you too that day…I don’t think I could have gone on.”

 

Legolas shuffles closer after that.

 

\--

 

Back home, Legolas is bored to tears with laying in bed all day, but his father stands firm and Legolas is unwilling to fracture the peace they have found in the last weeks.

 

At least, he is visited each day by both Thranduil and Trinir who entertain him well enough. Laegon is still in Dale and from the way his father smirks whenever that issue is brought up, Legolas guesses that for once Thranduil was not happy with the conduct of his third son.

 

It gives him a little vindication.

 

\--

 

The wound is still not healing the way his father would like it and Legolas can tell that it worries him, can tell over the lingering touches on his leg, that his father is thinking about speaking up about it.

 

He knew it to be a lie from the first moment Thranduil claimed not to know why the wound remains persistent, but that uncharacteristic hesitation gave him pause and so he didn’t question his father.

 

\--

 

He struggles awake from a nightmare deep in the middle of the night with a storm howling outside. For a long, long moment, Legolas does not move but the darkness of his chambers seems oppressive and his mother’s face is still so clear in his mind that he gets up. He only plans to wander the halls, but his feet carry him towards his father’s chambers.

 

The guard on duty is Talion, who used to carry Legolas around on his shoulders many, many years ago. He studies Legolas’ face and before he can deny his need, Talion opens the doors to let Legolas enter.

 

His father’s study is alight with candles and he pads over there softly, making a little noise to announce his entry. Thranduil is looking at him when he enters through the doorway, brows slightly scrunched up the way they get when he is worried.

 

They look at each other for a moment. Legolas plans for an offhand comment about making up for lost time and craving solace for his nightmares like a child, but out of his mouth comes:

 

“I saw Emel’s face tonight.”

 

Thranduil gives no outward reaction, but Legolas feels the air shiver around them anyway. After a moment his father gets up to get them some wine.

 

“Sit,” he says, and presses a hand between Legolas’ shoulder blades when he does not move. “It shouldn’t be so hard to accept that a wound to the thigh does not do well with standing and walking,” Thranduil murmurs while directing Legolas to the chair he was using himself mere moments ago.

 

“What else did you see?” Thranduil asks after a moment. Legolas takes a sip of wine more to stall for time than because he likes it.

 

“Just her face,” he lies and Thranduil leans against the table in front of him, studying him for a long moment.

 

“Do you need to talk about the day we lost her?” he asks softly. The question is so unexpected that Legolas simply stares at him for a moment.

 

“You don’t want to talk about that,” he says and can’t help that his voice sounds a tiny bit accusing.

 

Thranduil smiles. “I have asked if you needed to talk about it,” he gently admonishes, “not if I wanted to.”

 

When Legolas remains silent, still lost for words, his father sighs. “We did talk about it,” he says, voice wistful in a way Legolas never heard before, “when we had found you. For weeks, it was the only thing you did talk about; it was either that or nothing at all.”

 

He studies Legolas’ face for a moment. “You don’t remember,” he states and Legolas nods.

 

“I can’t recall that day now,” he says, and his voice is hoarse, “I only remember being so scared and screaming for you and then her eyes when she looked at me, while…while…”

 

Thranduil reaches out for him then, takes his wine glass and sets it on his table before wrapping Legolas in his arms. “My child,” he says so softly that Legolas barely hears him. “Tell me,” he pleads and Thranduil does, voice steady and soft while he recalls his wife’s life and then, death.

 

Legolas sleeps in his bed that night and feels like an elfling again, embarrassed and protected at the same time.

 

\--

 

His wound is mostly healed when spring arrives, yet he still struggles with putting pressure on it. He doesn’t tell his father, tries to pretend that all is fine, so he can leave and train like the others do once the snow is thawed.

 

He goes for a hike by himself after Thranduil allows him to and comes back with a leg aching in pain. He soaks in the springs and stares at the scar, but it looks just like any new scar and he can’t make sense of it.

 

\--

 

Spring brings Filarion to their father’s halls and Legolas tries to stay out of his eldest brother’s way. His relationship with Filarion was always complicated and he knows that Filarion thinks he is not doing his part, lives an easy life courtesy of being the youngest of four. The easy companionship Thranduil and Filarion share has always filled Legolas with a longing so deep he could have drowned in it and so he walks the woods, works with his bows, makes himself useful as best as he can.

 

His leg screams at him, but he ignores it; he will rather take the physical pain than the emotional one of seeing his father, Filarion and Trinir laugh and joke with each other, so familiar in a way Legolas will never catch up with. He knows that they talk about their mother from time to time, that they remember her together and he both wants to be there when they do it and not ever be there when they do it. 

 

He manages to avoid dinner for a few days until Thranduil himself comes to get him from the range one night, studying Legolas’ form.

 

“You still favor your uninjured leg,” he says when they walk to the halls together, “any particular reason for that?”

 

“Just taking it slow like you cautioned,” Legolas lies.

 

Filarion is in high spirits, joking with Trinir and some of his oldest friends Thranduil invited to their table as well. They drink and laugh, and Legolas does so too even if his heart is not in it. He feels his father’s eyes on him but whenever he looks at Thranduil, Thranduil is looking somewhere else.

 

This evening is not so bad, Legolas thinks just when Filarion turns to him and says: “So, tell me, for no one has done so yet, just how exactly you managed to get stabbed by wainriders and then get lost in Fangorn?”

 

His tone is amicable enough, but Legolas is immediately on edge. He does tell the story as briefly as he can, hoping against hope that Filarion will let this go quickly.

 

“And it took you until now to heal it?” Filarion asks at the end of his story. Legolas knows that particular slant to his mouth and braces himself. “Seriously, father,” Filarion says, “are you sure he belongs to us?”

 

“Very,” Thranduil says quietly but Legolas is already so angry, he can barely help himself. No one manages to rile him up like Filarion. Trinir is saying something, without doubt trying to defuse the situation, but Legolas cannot keep the words in.

 

“I know you would prefer it if I wasn’t,” he says bitterly. Filarion sneers at him and says, “if you weren’t always such a princess, maybe I would mind less,” and Legolas gets up hastily then, ignoring how is leg almost buckles under the unexpected movement. He needs to get away, lest he does something truly stupid. Trinir is calling his name, but Legolas – he can’t stay. He thought he was going somewhere with his father in the last months but Thranduil has remained silent throughout the exchange and now he isn’t sure of his welcome any longer.

 

When he leaves the hall, nobody stops him.

 

\--

 

Instead of going to his rooms, he goes down to the stables, looking for his horse. He hasn’t seen Laegon in some time and even though Laegon annoys him just as much as Filarion, they don’t loathe each other like Filarion does loathe him. Riding to Dale will take his mind off of things; Tauriel is said to live there now. He will stay a few weeks until he is sure that Filarion has left; only then will he return.

 

\--

 

The wound opens up again sometime on his ride, but Legolas ignores it best as he can. It would be easier to do so if it would bleed less and he presses cloth hard against it. The night is dark around him; the weather appears to turn yet again, but he presses on.

 

Filarion is right; he does not belong.

 

\--

 

Thranduil catches up with him shortly after he has left the shelter of the trees. His father’s hands are harsh when they pull away the cloth to look at his wound, his words even harsher when he berates him for leaving in the middle of the night without notifying anyone.

 

“What were you thinking, Legolas?” he hisses so angrily that his tone brings tears to Legolas’ eyes. He lets them run down his face, lets the icy wind dry them while he follows his father’s horse back to their halls. Thranduil does not turn to look at him once.

 

\--

 

Filarion sneers when he sees them; Trinir looks worried.

 

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence again,” Filarion says haughtily, but Thranduil tells him to keep his mouth shut in a voice Legolas’ hasn’t heard his father use on his eldest son ever. Judging from Filarion’s face that might be an accurate observation.

 

“Do you really need to irk him further tonight?” Thranduil admonishes, “is it not enough that he managed to open a wound again that has refused to heal for months, Filarion? What has he done to you to deserve so much ill-will?”

 

Filarion looks away and mumbles an apology that Thranduil doesn’t wait to hear, dragging Legolas towards his chambers instead.

 

“Strip,” he orders while his attendants bring in some heated water. Legolas gets out of his clothes hastily, half-scared of his father’s mood. “Lay down,” Thranduil says and points to his bed. “I’ll get blood all over your covers,” Legolas cautions. “Legolas,” his father hisses, “do I look like I care?”

 

Legolas lays down.

 

Thranduil’s fingers poke hot fire in the wound and Legolas hisses, tries to shift away. “Shush,” his father says absently. He studies the wound; he sighs deeply.

 

“I can do nothing for you Legolas,” he says. There is an ache to his voice Legolas has never heard before. “You do not want your leg to heal; without you wanting it, it will not. It’s as easy as that, or as hard, given the perspective.”

 

“What?” Legolas says. He is not sure he can follow.

 

Thranduil catches his eyes and holds them, before saying: “You do not want your leg to heal. Therefore, it won’t.”

 

“But I do,” Legolas says. He is confused, both by the accusation and his father’s demeanor.

 

“No,” Thranduil says, still looking at him, “you don’t want it to heal, however subconsciously. Just as you didn’t want to be found by Trinir, for you wouldn’t have gone south otherwise. Just as you didn’t want to be found by me, for you wouldn’t have made it so hard to find you otherwise. Just as you used Filarion as an excuse tonight to do something reckless. You do not want to get better.”

 

“You think I do this for attention?” Legolas says hotly, trying to escape his father’s grip on his leg.

 

“Legolas,” Thranduil bellows. Then, much softer, “Legolas,” when this doesn’t get Legolas to still. Legolas stops shifting, looks at him defiantly.

 

“You do not do this for attention,” his father says softly, “you do it because you are hurt. I am chiefly responsible for that hurt and for allowing it to smolder this long; but please do not make this even harder for us by misunderstanding on purpose.”

 

Legolas heaves in a breath; there is suddenly not enough air in the room.

 

“What do you need from me to make this go away?” Thranduil implores him.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Legolas whispers, but he knows, doesn’t he, of course he does.

 

“Your sadness,” his father whispers, “it’s your sadness that is making you fade.”

 

Legolas hesitates, weighs his options. “It’s about Tauriel,” he says but Thranduil shakes his head the second her name leaves his mouth.

 

“It isn’t” he says, “if it was, I would have ordered her back months ago. Say it, Legolas, for your sake and mine.”

 

“No,” Legolas whispers, scared suddenly of his deepest feelings dragged out like this.

 

“Legolas,” his father says and then wraps him into his arms. They haven’t shared embraces in decades and now barely a night goes by in which he doesn’t end up smothered in his father’s arms, but Legolas can’t help it, missed this so much he cannot put it in words. Nobody has held him. Nobody has touched him much since his mother died, except for Trinir whenever he was home and that realization wells up from somewhere deep within him and then he is sobbing, can’t stop, clings to his father, whimpers “Ada” again and again and Thranduil tells him that he is here, that it’s alright, that it will stop hurting soon, that he will get better, that Thranduil will not allow it to get worse and Legolas cries and cries and cries.

 

\--

 

When Thranduil lets him go, when his father strokes back his hair and hands him a wet cloth to wipe his face, Legolas can’t look his father in the eyes. Thranduil gets Legolas a tunic and puts it on him, draws up the covers to smother Legolas in them, re-binds the wound, gets him some tea to sip, gently untangles the braids in his hair. Legolas lets him do all these things without much cooperation, too bone-deep exhausted all of a sudden to help much. When the bed dips, he turns over to press his face against his father’s chest, falls asleep almost immediately.

 

\--

 

When he wakes, he hears his father talking with someone in the outer rooms. The voice isn’t familiar, and it takes him a long while to place it as Bard’s. His father’s tone is intimate, Bard’s low and soothing. When he peeks out of the door to look at them, Bard has an arm around his father’s shaking shoulders. Legolas draws back, feeling nervous to have witnessed such a private moment. Apparently, he missed more than usual; he knows objectively that Thranduil has bedded on diplomatic missions before but to allow another to see him like this speaks of deeper affection.

 

The presentiment of why his father might be in need of solace leaves him sorrowful, ashamed. He looks around for his own clothes and can’t find them and is still indecisive about putting on more of his father’s when Thranduil opens the door.

 

“What are you doing out of bed?” Thranduil asks softly and herds him back before Legolas can protest. “You still need rest and I’ll rather have you somewhere I can see you,” he murmurs while drawing up the blankets to Legolas’ chin. “Ada,” Legolas complains, but stills at the look in his father’s eyes. “Legolas,” he whispers, “just humor me. Just let me have this one day. Tomorrow you are free to go; today you remain here. Please?”

 

All Legolas can do is nod in return.

 

\--

 

Trinir comes after noon, collapsing half on top of Legolas and crushing him with his weight. They talk like this for a long time, Trinir in turn teasing and soothing him and Legolas feels a bit lighter when Thranduil takes his lunch with him. Yet, his father does not talk much, mostly studies him. The silence is not oppressive but full of something Legolas cannot name. It feels a little like the calm before the storm.

 

Filarion comes in the afternoon when the light just starts to dwindle. He holds himself stiffly, apologizes formally, Thranduil studying them from where he sits next to the fireplace. Legolas feels nervous, sitting in his father’s bed like this, like a little child and he can tell from Filarion’s face that he thinks the same. It makes him feel small and insignificant. Their father seems to pick up on it quickly, dismissing Filarion and then walking him out. Legolas hears their voices, hears Filarion cut off by Thranduil.

  
When Thranduil comes back, he says little, gathers something to read from the library, before settling down next to Legolas. It rains, and the pit-patting of the drops soothes Legolas to sleep. He thinks he feels his father caress his hair just before he falls asleep, but it might be imagination.

 

\--

 

He knows that his father is waiting for him to take the initiative, but Legolas does not know how. Him leaving after the battle has set too many things in motion and Legolas struggles to keep up with developments. Right now, it all feels overwhelming and while he is overjoyed about having his father back, having his father take care of him, he can barely tolerate it from time to time. Having Thranduil worry about him, care about him is both wonderful and frightening; knowing that his father always loved him and realizing at the same time, for the first time truly, how much pain his father must have been in after their mother’s death…Legolas barely knows how to deal with it.

 

After the battle they are both changed men, yet at the same time Legolas is still Thranduil’s son and Thranduil is still his father.

 

\--

 

The next weeks pass uneventful until one evening finds him back at the range. Thranduil let him go with a slight quirk to his mouth, not bothering to tell him to be careful. Both Bard and Filarion still reside in Thranduil’s realm, discussing border duties with regards to the wainriders now that Erebor and Dale are once again players in the region.

 

His father is careful about not being too obvious, but he spends much more time with Bard in the guest chambers than with any other before him. He is more relaxed too, the set of his shoulders not as tight, eyes soft when they look at Dale’s new Lord. Legolas is happy for him and at the same time amused that his father obviously worries about his reaction. He has half a mind to talk with Trinir about it, to devise a scheme to tease their father, but then he remembers Thranduil’s eyes when he closed his wound a fortnight ago once again and resists temptation.

 

Knowing why the wound isn’t closing does not help with changing his mind about it, unfortunately. Legolas sometimes looks at his leg late at night and a part of him never wants to get better, wants to stay in his father’s bed, be his father’s littlest child, make up for all the time they have lost to grief. His leg does neither get better nor worse, caught in the same equilibrium as Legolas himself.

 

Bard finds him that evening at the range, thanks him for having saved his children back when Laketown was burning. They shoot a few arrows together when Filarion enters the range as well, clearly lost in thoughts, because he stops abruptly when he sees Legolas.

 

“I am sorry for interrupting,” he says smoothly and makes to turn when Bard calls him back, asks him some questions about the Elvish bows they make at their father’s realms as compared to the one from Lórien Filarion uses. Filarion answers them truthfully and Legolas only half listens, focusing on one of his targets instead. The shot isn’t easy to get, and he is about to bend down to nail it, when Filarion grabs at him, pulling him back up angrily.

 

“What do you think you are doing?” he hisses in Sindarin, “do you want that leg to become your grave and that of our father as well?” He glances down worriedly but Legolas – Legolas remembers how Filarion turned away from him when he wanted a hug after coming back from that horrible day their mother died, how Filarion would stop teaching him how to shoot even though his skill was unsurpassed in all of Mirkwood, how Filarion would look at him and see their mother, angrily telling Legolas to change the way he laughed or how he held his spoon.

 

It would hurt less if we wouldn’t remember the Filarion from before at all, the older brother who would carry him around on his shoulders, who would tickle him until he cried with laughter, who would keep him on his knees telling everyone that by right Legolas was as much his son as he was Thranduil’s for he loved him just as much. That Filarion died with their mother and Legolas wished him back for so long that he can practically taste it on his tongue.

 

He hits Filarion with the end of his bow, hard, as hard as he can. To his credit, Filarion tries not to engage, tries to back up, tries to apologize but Legolas can’t, he can’t, he wants his mother back, he wants the calm back he was in before the great battle, he wants things to go back the way they were, him not truly being a part of his family but not aching so much for it and he hurls himself at Filarion because he knows Filarion can hurt him and he wishes for hurt so badly he hears his blood sing with it.

 

Filarion backs away once again but Legolas gets him good with one of his shorter knives, can see the moment rage overtakes his older brother and then it’s on and for a moment, just a moment Legolas thinks that he will finally get what he wants, can finally go without having to make that final decision himself, and then Filarion drops his sword and his bow and holds up his hands.

 

It takes the wind out of Legolas’ sails, quite literally. He feels himself crashing against the shore that Filarion has become but he is not met with anger any longer, is met instead with arms coming around him to keep him from hurting himself further. For a moment, they sway and then Legolas’ knees give way and Filarion continues to hold him, whispers to him, but Legolas cannot hear him over the rush of his own blood in his ears.

 

Trinir and their father reach the range at the same moment, undoubtedly alarmed by the guards. Bard presses down on the cut in Filarion’s shoulder and Trinir reaches to take Legolas from their older brother, but Legolas can’t, clinging now. He doesn’t even have it in him to be ashamed any longer, doesn’t even have it in him to think about his behavior in the last weeks, the figure he has cut with all the crying and fainting and whimpering; Legolas can’t care.

 

Filarion says something angrily and hugs him closer. Trinir replies and then their father’s voice cuts in and his sons fall silent. A moment later, Thranduil cups Legolas’ cheek over Filarion’s shoulder.

 

“Look at me,” his father says, and Legolas does. “Breathe,” Thranduil says and Legolas does. “Slower,” Thranduil says and Legolas does. The first tear falls then, rolls slowly down his cheek and for just a second his father looks so anguished that Legolas wants to scream with it, but before he can react, the expression leaves his father’s face. “Just like that,” he says, and Legolas notices almost absently that he is breathing calmer now, that the thundering in his ears has died down.

 

“You should really do something about all that blood,” Bard says somewhere to his right and Thranduil bends down, pushing his power into Legolas wound once again and Legolas knows in that very moment, that this is the last time, this is him at his lowest point, standing in the middle of his father’s halls after attacking his own brother and heir to the throne, bleeding out in front of the whole of Mirkwood. He will not do any more harm to himself, to his family, if he survives this day.

 

\--

 

It’s Filarion who carries him back to bed and it’s Filarion who feeds him some broth from the kitchens and it’s Filarion who talks his voice hoarse, who talks about memories and honoring them, who talks about duties and fulfilling him, who talks about not doing Legolas justice as older brother, about Legolas not making it easy.

 

“I seek your forgiveness,” Legolas manages to say, finally. They are alone; Trinir had overseen their interaction for some time and then left. Legolas has yet to see his father again and he dreads it, still remembering that split second during which Thranduil’s face slipped.

 

“Legolas,” Filarion says and he sounds desperate, “are you even listening? I’ve been seeking yours for hours now.”

 

“Please,” Legolas manages and Filarion lets his head hang, clearly shaken. “You have it, Honeg,” he says, “no matter what happened today. This is my fault, not yours.”

 

Legolas closes his eyes then.

 

\--

 

When he wakes next it is Bard who sits at the fire, studying him. He quirks his mouth in a little smile when he sees Legolas’ eyes on him.

 

“So,” he says, “I figured leafling is an acceptable thing to call you, as all three of your brothers and your father have called you that today. I feel sorry now for calling Laegon a spoilt princess all this time; leafling fits him so much nicer too.”

 

His speech confuses Legolas, so he focuses on what he understands. “Laegon is here?” he asks. “Yes,” Bard answers and his face is more serious now, “he arrived early this morning. I sent for him.”

 

He doesn’t elaborate why, for he doesn’t have to. Legolas turns his face from him, deeply embarrassed again.

 

For a long moment they don’t talk and then Bard gets up and sits down next to him.

 

“You’ve been pretty out of it these past few days. Do want to know what I’ve seen?” he asks Legolas. Legolas manages to nod his head.

 

“A family that’s going berserk with worry for you,” Bard continues softly, “yet all of them are so determined to get you better. They’ve been talking about you for hours now and how they wronged you after your mother died and none of them has been afraid to face some very hurtful truths about themselves.”

 

Bard pauses watching his face.

  
“To err is to live,” he says, “and without love, what’s there to live? They erred badly with you, yet they love you so deeply. They are more than willing to look forward and what else can you do in a life that goes on forever? Let them help, Legolas.”

 

\--

 

For the next weeks, life goes on. Legolas barely has a moment to himself unless he is sleeping for all three of his brothers crowd him, wanting to talk to him, wanting to know how he is feeling, wanting to know if there is anything they can get him. Legolas answers them, truthfully at times, only half truthfully at others.

 

The evenings are reserved for Thranduil and him. They take their dinner together, just the two of them, and Legolas loves that with a childish possessiveness even though they do not talk of much of importance. Thranduil mostly studies him during their meals, reads afterwards, not talking much but it soothes something scared in Legolas nonetheless, something that half expected Thranduil to turn him out on the streets after his attack on the heir. He doesn’t voice that fear, half-guessing that Thranduil would fly into a wild rage at hearing it, half-fearing that he wouldn’t.

 

\--

 

Filarion leaves a month after the incident, having stayed much longer than he planned to initially. He kisses Legolas cheek, makes him promise to come visit. Legolas knows he won’t come; for all the reconciliation they have reached these last weeks, some cuts run to deep to ever be filled again with the feeling that once was between them. Nonetheless, he is happy to have worked some of it out, no matter how draining and hard.

 

Laegon and Bard are the next to leave and Legolas ignores the lingering glances between his father and the Lord of Dale. After all these years since his mother’s death, he doesn’t envy his father this moment of happiness, even if he aches at the knowledge of how quickly that happiness will pass for Thranduil, of how little time Bard will occupy in his father’s long life.

 

Yet, he likes Bard with his calculated insolence, likes that his father becomes softer around him. Laegon and him say their goodbyes without much feeling; Legolas has some doubts that Laegon cares particularly about what’s been happening at all. Not that he minds him much; between them not much love is lost, not much feeling to recover for they share a similar indifference. Laegon is this distant with all of his brothers, somehow afloat above them all.

 

Trinir unsurprisingly decides to stay for longer. He takes up work with the guard and Legolas sees less of him, but he comes home often enough for a chat and a dinner.

  
Legolas wound does neither get better nor worse.

 

\--

 

When summer is well and truly there, Thranduil takes Legolas for a carefully controlled ride towards Dale. The sun is warm on his skin, his horse’s gait familiar and so they spent an easy ride, picnic just at the edge of the forest. His father is languid in a way he rarely is, and Legolas feels easier than he has in months.

 

In Dale, Bard grins at him and at night he ignores the noises out of his father’s rooms. Bard’s children are funny and entertaining and to his surprise, so is Laegon, whose icy demeanor is somewhat thawing around all these loud and emotional humans. He spends a few good days there, watches his father verbally spar with the dwarves and then sees Tauriel.

 

She has changed; gone is the easy companionship they shared. Grief has hardened her mouth and her tongue. She asks him what he has been up to and he tells her some of it, trying to keep it light and funny, but she asks to see the wound and he finds no way to refuse her. She stares at it for the longest time, and then asks him with so much pain in her voice that it hurts him too, how those who wanted to live have died and those who wanted to die have lived; asks him about the unfairness of it all.

 

He is shaken afterwards, deeply so, knows he won’t be able to hide it from his father. Yet, he also does not want to bring more trouble Tauriel’s way for Thranduil knew they were meeting and was not happy about it to start with.

 

So he wanders the city for a while, careful not to meet Trinir who had joined them or Laegon or Galion or Feren or any of the others who will report him to his father. He lingers in one of the caverns for a while, drinks an ale to try the taste, finds it disgusting. He watches the men play card games and when he gets up, Thranduil is waiting outside for him, leaning against the stone wall of the house opposite the little establishment.

 

Legolas hangs his head when he approaches him. For all his promises to get better all he has managed is to not get worse. It’s not enough; he knows that. His leg hurts every day, but it’s become a sort of pain he barely notices now.

 

Thranduil tugs him into his personal space once he his close enough to be grabbed, slings an arm around his shoulder when he directs them towards Bard’s residence. They don’t speak and Legolas notices people staring at them. Thranduil, as usual, is far above their glances and whispers, unerringly guides Legolas past the guards and up the stairs when they make it home. He doesn’t lead Legolas in the room he’s been assigned, leads him instead out on the private balcony Bard’s rooms enjoy.

 

They look up to the stars together, silently, for a long time.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Legolas says, finally. He knows his father has been waiting for something like this. He feels sorry that he can give nothing more.

 

Thranduil looks at him from the side, studies his profile for a long moment.

 

“What you are doing is enough,” Thranduil says, finally.

 

\--

 

The words stay with him, stay with him after their return home, stay with him for a long time. _What you are doing is enough –_ it never even occurred to Legolas that it could be that simple.

 

Thranduil allows him to join the guard once more, allows him to accompany Trinir to a mission to Lórien at the beginning of autumn. “I want you both home by winter,” he says, eyes on Trinir.

 

He must have given Trinir some more advice, for when they meet the twins at Celeborn’s, Trinir is nothing if not outright hostile, yet unerringly polite at the same time. Legolas does not care much.

 

He gets to meet Rúmil there and falls in love for the first time, even though he doesn’t know it yet. Haldir, he finds out later, knew straight away and despaired about it; it’s what gets him to get in touch with Thranduil after centuries of silence.

 

When they return, live goes on. Bard comes to visit, as do his children and he teaches all of them more skills with the bow. He stays awake the whole night during Harvest festival, talking to Filarion.

 

He isn’t afraid any longer of asking his father for help and so he finds him whenever the wound aches and stings, whenever he struggles awake at night. Thranduil seems to know when he is coming, because he either has athelas ready or the wine.

 

The wound only closes fully later, much later. During his time with the fellowships, there are days when it hurts so much, he can’t think of nothing else. When Mithrandir loses the fight with the balrog; when Haldir falls and they find him after, still alive but barely so, when they have to leave him to ride further, when they go to meet the Army of the Undead – in those moments, Legolas wishes for Thranduil so badly it hurts. He cannot think about what the Woodland Realm his facing, cannot think that he might return to see it gone, so he focuses on teasing Gimli whenever it gets too much.

 

Much later, after the crowning of the rightful king of Gondor, Legolas looks at Gimli and can finally accept that he is in love. The wound doesn’t hurt at all in these happy days, when they figure out how to give each other pleasure, when they can still ignore what Gimli’s father and king will say, what Legolas father (and king, he thinks with horror) will say when they find out about their union (Legolas doesn’t allow himself to think _if my father is still there to say something about it_ ). 

 

They ride together for Erebor. Dale and the Lonely Mountain have fought hard battles and the damage is visible. The Elvenking fought with them, people tell Legolas, fought bravely as did his three sons; they are all back in the Elvenking’s halls where much damage has been done, too. Legolas shakes with the relief.

 

Gimli puts promise beads in his hair under Glóin’s watchful eyes. The dwarves are not fully happy with their union, he can tell, but after recent history not as opposed as they once were. More importantly, all dwarves love their children deeply, fiercely, and Glóin will see Gimli happy no matter what.

 

Legolas doddles around in Erebor and Dale for far longer than necessary. But. For all the improvements with his family, he cannot help to be scared of losing them again once he is truthful about who he loves. He does not think he could bear it, not after getting them back, not after sorting out so much of their history that hurt him.

 

In the end, he starts riding for his father’s halls at the beginning of autumn, heart beating erratically in his chest. What if he wasn’t missed at all? What if his brothers and father forgot all about him again in the long, hard months they didn’t see each other? What if…

 

His father is waiting for him next to the statue of his mother and Legolas’ heart shudders painfully and then he is dragged down from his horse and hugged within an inch of his life. Thranduil looks proud and beautiful and terrifying as always. He is without crown but with sword and he looks at Legolas as if he is the best thing he has ever seen, whispers “ion-nin” in his ear.

 

“I am so proud of you, my leafling,” he says and wipes the moisture of Legolas’ tears off his cheeks.

 

\--

 

All of his brothers are at his father’s halls and Legolas spends a few merry hours in his father’s private chambers with them until Filarion asks what the beads in his hair are supposed to mean and Legolas regrets not finding the courage to speak of it when he and his father were alone.

 

He cannot help it, addresses his father only, gets on his knees before the King, because he knows that in this, Thranduil cannot rule as father only, must rule as King of the Woodland Realm as well.

 

Thranduil listens, quietly, when Legolas stumbles through his explanations. He reaches out to him when he finishes, and Legolas goes to him with shaking legs. His brothers are so still they could be carved out of stone, and Legolas knows, he _knows_ no one will forgive him for this.

 

His father’s hands are gentle when he gets up to stand in front of Legolas and places them on his shoulders, carefully touches the beads in his hair. He is silent for so long that Legolas almost pleads with him to speak.

 

“How is your wound?” he ends up asking and that’s so unexpected that Legolas has no idea what he is talking about for a long moment. “Show me,” his father orders and Legolas has no choice but to strip out of his leggings.

 

The wound is old now, the scar no longer irritated or red. The wound hasn’t opened again since that horrible day when he attacked Filarion.

 

“When was the last time it hurt?” Thranduil asks and Legolas tells him of the Army of the Undead, hears his brothers draw in one sharp collective breath.

 

“Gimli, Glóin’s son,” Thranduil says thoughtfully, “was Glóin not a dwarf I imprisoned with Thorin?” He was, but Legolas does not want to admit it, so he looks away.

 

“Did they give you a warm welcome in Erebor?” his father asks next and Legolas answers truthfully that most of them did, even if all of them were bewildered and some, possibly, quite unhappy. Thranduil smiles at that, an enigmatic little smile, Legolas hasn’t seen before and his heart sinks.

 

“You have my blessing as a King,” Thranduil says then, simply, just as if he hadn’t spent centuries and decades fighting and hating dwarves, just as if Legolas had only asked for his permission to leave the Realm for a few months to visit friends near and far, “and my devotion to your union as your father.”

 

Trinir gets up immediately and draws him into a big hug, but Legolas still stares at Thranduil, keeps staring over Filarion’s and Laegon’s shoulders too when they hug him, albeit less briefly than Trinir. Thranduil keeps looking at him, too, eyes wistful and somehow piercing yet far-away.

 

They have dinner together that night, just the five of them, and the wine is good and the food too and Legolas has more of both than he should. His brothers sunder away when the night grows darker, leaving him to sit with their father.

 

Thranduil reaches out to touch the beads in his hair once more and that must be it, Legolas thinks, this is the moment, in which he will tell Legolas off after all.

 

“I can read your troubles in your face,” Thranduil says after a moment, “won’t you share them with me?”

 

“You truly do not mind?” Legolas whispers, not able to look at his father.

 

“Legolas,” Thranduil says softly and waits until Legolas finds the courage to look him in the eyes, “of course I worry that you won’t find the acceptance you wish for, both here in my halls as well as in Erebor. Of course, I am sad to see my youngest child leave to go get married. Of course, I ache for you knowing that the life-span of your beloved is lesser than yours.”

 

He pauses for a moment, and then continues even quieter: “Of course, I thank whoever wants to listen up high among the stars, that you didn’t fade on me after I’ve found you in Fangorn. Of course, I would do anything, Legolas, to make up for the grief I have brought on you after your mother’s death.”

 

“You are dearer to me than the crown on my head, than all of this Realm,” Thranduil says and something relaxes in Legolas, something he didn’t even know still existed, “you are dearer to me than my own life and certainly dearer than any prejudice I might hold. If he treats you well, if he makes you happy – I am happy to support you in whatever way I can.”

 

\--

 

Of course, when they ride to meet the dwarves and discuss the terms of the union, Thranduil cannot help but insult, gives back as good as he gets, but Gimli laughs at the antics of their fathers and their kings and takes Legolas away to show him some hidden caves when things get too heated.

 

A lot of wine and ale tides them over the remaining days and then Legolas weds Gimli surrounded by all their friends. Thranduil gets drunk with Aragorn and Éomer, the Halflings eat more than Legolas thinks he has eaten in all his life, Filarion looks bemused by it all, Trinir looks in love with the Rohirrim, Laegon steals a suspicious number of glances at Dale’s new king and Legolas – is happy, unreservedly so, for the first time since his mother died.

 

\--

 

They decide to ride a few years later, to spent spring and summer away from their homes, to have a few adventures of their own. They ride first to see Thranduil to say their goodbyes and Legolas walks in on his father and Haldir in a rather compromising situation, but that is a story for another time.

 

Thranduil sighs dramatically when they tell him of their plans, robe still open, skin still slightly flushed from activities Legolas is very much not thinking about, thank you very much and then invites them to stay for a few days, which they gladly accept.

 

That evening, Gimli and Legolas use the springs and Thranduil joins them. Haldir comes by to trade a few insults with Gimli that leave both of them grinning widely but doesn’t get into the water courtesy of the wounds that still mar the skin of his back and neck and Legolas feels at home and relaxed and loved when Thranduil inhales sharply and reaches for his leg.

 

The scar has faded; no mark remains. Legolas hasn’t even noticed so little attention has he paid on it in the last years.

 

Gimli kisses him when he sees it even though Legolas knows that some of its significance is lost on him.

 

His father smiles at him, and Legolas catches the moisture in his eyes, the way he quickly turns his head to keep the bone crushing relief showing on his face a secret, the way he turns his head to look at Haldir.

 

He catches the way Haldir smiles at his father, reassuringly, lovingly and on impulse he reaches out and hugs Thranduil. They do not share words; it’s probably for the best, for Legolas would not know how to put into words what he is feeling, and he guesses, for once and for all his eloquence, Thranduil feels the same.

 

After, Legolas goes on and on and it’s enough; it’s more than enough.

 

 


End file.
